


A Release through Paper

by DaemonBites



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Don't be afraid to get help, Gen, Introspection, More of a release for me than anything, Please don't read if you're feeling vulnerable today, Really depressing, please heed the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22435099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaemonBites/pseuds/DaemonBites
Summary: These are my thoughts a few years ago when I was in the lowest depths of my depression. It's depressing but now that I can read it without breaking down it reminds me how far I've come today. Please don't read if you are feeling particularly down. This is a kind of catharsis for me and to anyone else who have experienced the same thing.Let us remember that those dark times end once we finally muster the strength to finally step into the light.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	A Release through Paper

**Author's Note:**

> Again, last warning: Do not read if you are feeling particularly depressed and down. These are not happy thoughts but my coping mechanism that got me through my grief as I wrote them down. Depression is a constant battle and we all fight it in different ways. Please get help even if in small amounts. Those small steps to happiness always counts. 
> 
> Always remember that it was a Hobbit, the smallest of the creatures that destroyed the Ring and saved Middle-Earth in the end.

Please make it stop hurting. Why must I always hurt? Why should I always feel like I'm the one to blame? Why am I so trapped? Why am I so hateful? I just want to be happy, to mean something. Haven't I sacrificed enough? Or were they not sacrifices but my own selfishness blowing things out of proportion?

I'm just whining again. I'm not the only one hurting. I'm hurting others far more than the world is hurting me. It's merely trying to balance itself.

My chest feels heavy. It does most days and it feels like I've never been light my whole life. It made me sick at how constant it was, always rising to the back of my throat until I couldn't tel if it was vomit or my heartache. My head pounds.

Carefully trained tears prick at the back of my eyes. and I have to bite my tongue to prevent helpless sobs from escaping.

It's liberating, writing this. Liberating and caging just like most of the things in my life. Acceptance is a form of letting go but acceptance meant acknowledging it. It means acknowledging me. My unforgivable self who wouldn't know love if it smacked me in the face. An exaggeration perhaps but it felt like it most days. People who has hurt me told me they loved me. Maybe I loved them back. It wouldn't hurt as much if I didn't, yes?

It's unfair. Why am I even allowed to break down? They're unfair. I'm being a spoiled brat again. I disgust me. I probably disgust the world. I wouldn't be surprised.

Honestly I don't think anything can shock me these days. That's a relief. But it's boring too. I'd rather not have any more stress from shock but at the same time I miss it. I miss those days when I gasped in genuine awe and stared at something I truly found interesting. God, even I have to fake that. I don't remember the last time I was actually and truly excited about something.

I was the excitable member of the group. I have to BE excitable or people would start asking questions. Maybe they won't. There's a big possibility that all of this is just in my head. I wouldn't be surprised. I feel too disgustingly aware of myself sometimes. Good thing too or I wouldn't know how to establish 'myself'.

I wonder if people see themselves like I do my own. How do they dream? How do they stand to see their reflections in a mirror? Do they disgust themselves too? They should to a degree, yes? And not physically but personality wise. They said hating someone stems from the fact that the other has something that you find disgusting in yourself.

But what if the person that I hate is me? What's the infernal philosophical way of looking at it? Ir is it just that? I hate me. I loathe me. I despise my bery being to the depths of my soul. Maybe that's why I'm like this, I'm not suicidal but I'm definitely self-destructive. I like watching myself suffer as though life is just a dream I can control and hurt myself over and over because I know the pain won't be permanent.

I can't cry. Not right now. Not until the holidays are over. My eyes will go red and puffy. They'll notice that. I don't want them to see. They can NEVER see.

Another wish to disappear. I wonder when it'll come true? But as all wishes you must do something yourself to fulfill it. Killing yourself is one thing. I'm too much of a coward to do that. To disappear- to have never existed is another. To have not affected anyone in any way, never gave sadness or grief, to never have made anyone happy and proud, the only true death. But it wouldn't be death because there was never a life in the first place. Philosophies, philosophies.

I read once about a girl who wouldn't eat her own cooking. She said it was because she knew who she was and it disgusted her. I couldn't understand her before. Food is foo. But now I do. Grossly so.

The pain is muting now. Not disappearing but now cooling down underneath the surface. I've always wondered why writing made me feel better, like I was slowly transferring all these barbaric emotions inside me on to my words and paper. If what I write could really feel, if somehow they weighed in the burden that was in me I imagine the letters would be drowning in despair.

Merry Christmas.


End file.
